


Haruno-Potter

by BackslashEcho



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: Adopted Sakura, Adoption, Adorable Sakura, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Genius Sakura, Mature Harry, Post-Order of the Phoenix AU, Pre-Canon, Sakura is way too cute, Slice of Life, for Naruto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3403292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BackslashEcho/pseuds/BackslashEcho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry comes home after his fifth year, still reeling from Sirius’ death, only to find that the Dursleys are mistreating yet another child, he decides to take his young cousin Sakura and adopt her himself.</p><p>Inspired by the original FFN story by RuneWitchSakura, which was reposted on AO3 by Ookamijudge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cousin Sakura

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [PotterBlackHaruno Sakura](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/99593) by RuneWitchSakura. 
  * Inspired by [Haruno-Potter-Black](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435819) by [ookamijudge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ookamijudge/pseuds/ookamijudge). 



Harry was unable to stop himself rolling his eyes as his Uncle Vernon glared at him in the rearview mirror. Harry’s expression set his Uncle’s large, walrus-like moustache billowing as the man’s breathing grew labored in his anger.

“Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me, boy,” he snapped, and Harry sighed, supposing that the silence really had been too much to hope for. Rather than try to defend himself, Harry simply turned to stare out the window. He had a feeling that Professor Dumbledore himself was somehow behind his Uncle’s arrival to pick him up at King’s Cross every year. This year, he had been able to garner some satisfaction from the confrontation between the his family and the Order of the Phoenix, who had come together with a promise to defend or rescue Harry if he was being mistreated.

Before this summer, of course, it had always been Sirius who promised to set the Dursleys right… 

Harry mentally paused, expecting his stomach to give the usual clench whenever he thought about Sirius Black, but instead felt only a sort of distant melancholy. He still missed his godfather immensely, of course, and most nights he still woke sweating from nightmares of Sirius, of his parents, of _Cedric_ , confronting him and crying that it was his fault, all his fault that they were dead. But today, the grief seemed transfigured, and he was able to remember the happy times he had spent with Sirius as well. 

Perhaps this was a stage of healing? He vaguely remembered one of his best friends, Hermione Granger, trying to lecture their other best friend, Ron Weasley, about what muggle psychologists called the Stages of Grief, but neither Harry nor Ron had paid her much attention. He felt a pang of regret for that, now. Sirius’ time was over too soon, and Harry wanted nothing more than to sit and chat with the man again. Harry resolved quietly to do better by his friends and loved ones. Grudgingly, he supposed he had to include ‘family’ in that list as well…as long as the Dursleys didn’t do anything too reprehensible. 

Harry carefully stifled his snort at that condition, and heard a crinkle of parchment as he shifted in his seat. Wondering why, he placed a hand in his jacket pocket, and remembered. An owl had fluttered down bearing a letter for him as he had boarded the Hogwarts Express, and he hadn’t had a chance to read it yet. Seeing a perfect opportunity to ignore his Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin for the duration of the short trip home, he pulled out the letter at once. The front was addressed simply _Mr. H. Potter ___, but the wax seal indicated that the letter had come from Gringotts. Harry broke the seal and peered inside.

There were two pieces of parchment within, one very thick, the other thinner and rather finer. He withdrew the second one and found a short note, scribbled in tiny spiky script.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_  
_Please find enclosed a copy of the Will of Sirius Orion Black._  
_The Bank of Gringotts wishes to meet with you at your earliest convenience regarding its execution._  
_May your gold always flow._

Harry did not open Sirius’ Will. The melancholy feeling grew stronger, and he felt both tears in the corners of his eyes and a slight smile tugging at his lips as he remembered his godfather debating the difference between Muggle and Wizarding Wills with Hermione at Grimmauld Place, and Arthur Weasley—fascinated as ever by anything and everything to do with muggles—watching their discussion with a look of fascination, his head bobbing back and forth as though at a tennis match.

It appeared Sirius had made up his Will before he died. Harry wondered, idly, why he was being called on regarding its execution, rather than, for instance, Albus Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore—current Headmaster of Hogwarts and several other titles within the Wizarding World—was one of the only people who had ever believed Sirius’ innocence, after he had been falsely imprisoned for crimes actually committed by one of his former best friends, Peter Pettigrew. 

As always, the thought of Pettigrew, who Harry thought of mainly as his alias Wormtail, filled the pit of Harry’s stomach with rage. Pettigrew had been one of Harry’s father’s own best friends, and had betrayed Harry’s parents to their deaths before blaming Sirius. 

Forcing his anger down, Harry tried to return to his original train of thought. If for whatever reason Dumbledore could not or would not act as the executor of Sirius’ estate, Harry would have expected it to fall to his other best friend, Remus Lupin. But then, Harry thought darkly, perhaps there was a law preventing werewolves from inheriting property. It seemed the sort of twisted, bigoted law the Ministry was so fond of. Although, there had to be some legal reason Sirius was still allowed to bequeath any of his belongings at all, since he had never been legally pardoned for the crimes he had been imprisoned for without trial. 

Still, at least the Ministry could no longer deny that the Dark Lord Voldemort had returned, since Voldemort had appeared within the Ministry itself not too long ago—

“Boy!” Vernon snarled, and Harry suddenly realized that his Uncle had been trying to get his attention for a while. He looked up at Uncle Vernon in the mirror again, politely nonplussed, and gestured for him to continue. 

“As I was saying…though I don’t know why I bother telling you except that I don’t want to deal with your questions about her later…” Vernon rambled as the car pulled into the driveway of Number Four, Privet Drive. “You are not to interfere with our new…houseguest. Petunia’s older sister has met just as sticky an end as _your_ wretched family. Worse, maybe, or so I’ve heard. We thought we’d seen the last of her when she left the bloody country and married a foreign freak maybe even worse than your parents. But no!” he was getting himself properly worked up now, and both Petunia and Dudley quietly fled into the house. “Now both of them have died, too, and left their freak daughter with us. So you listen here, boy: I will have none of your unnaturalness around her! It's bad enough what her father was; I won't have her becoming like you!”

“What do you mean, ‘what her father was’?” Harry asked, curious. Vernon’s tone had made it sound like he was something other than magical. Not that any of this made sense to Harry, who had never even heard of his mother and Aunt Petunia having an older sister.

“Didn’t I just tell you I don’t want any questions?” Uncle Vernon thundered. 

Harry simply rolled his eyes again and got out of the car, dragging his trunk out of the boot and up the stairs into his bedroom. As he reached the landing, Dudley pushed roughly past him and thundered down the stairs, meeting his mother coming out of the kitchen. The two of them left the house, piled back into the car with Uncle Vernon, and left without a word to Harry.

Harry pulled his trunk the rest of the way into his room, then padded across the hall to the Dursley’s guest room, supposing that they must have turned this into the bedroom for his other cousin, whoever she was. He knocked softly, but there was no reply, so Harry gently eased the door open. The room was quite empty, and in the late afternoon sunlight slanting in through the window, Harry saw no indication that anyone had moved in. 

Harry frowned. His uncle had made it sound as though his new cousin was currently in the house, but the only available bedroom was empty. Harry’s own bedroom had been untouched—he had a feeling the Dursleys simply locked the door from the outside whenever he wasn’t home—and Dudley was unlikely to willingly share space with anyone, especially if another room was free… 

Harry suddenly stiffened. What if his new cousin wasn’t near the same age as himself and Dudley, as he had been unconsciously assuming? What if she was younger, and smaller? And Vernon had made clear that he thought her parents had been worse than Harry’s own “unnaturalness”. Harry remembered only too well the Dursley’s idea of an appropriate response to “unnaturalness”—stamp it out through rigorous neglect, starting with denial of the most basic private human need: personal space.

Hoping desperately he was wrong, but knowing already that he wasn’t, Harry stormed back downstairs and wrenched open the door of the cupboard underneath, nearly pulling it off its hinges.

Blinking up at him was a terrified-looking girl, who looked to be barely five years old, with almond-shaped, sparkling green eyes the same colour as Harry’s, bright pink hair that would have made Harry’s Metamorphmagus friend Nymphadora Tonks jealous…and a Vernon-sized handprint on her cheek. 

“P-please don’t hurt me,” she stammered, her words a little difficult to understand between her odd accent and the quaver in her voice. “I’ll be good, I p-promise!”

Harry hushed her softly. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay now.” He started to reach out to her, but froze when she flinched. Resolving not to come any nearer until she was calmer, he continued, making his voice as soothing as possible, “What’s your name?”

“S-Sakura,” the girl squeaked, her eyes still shut tight. She was wearing a simple red shirt decorated with a white circle, and plain black shorts, with a red ribbon in her pink hair. 

“Sakura,” Harry repeated with a gentle smile. “I think that’s a very pretty name. My name’s Harry. It’s nice to meet you, Sakura.”

Slowly opening her eyes again, she took in that he hadn’t moved any closer, and had withdrawn his reaching hand, and relaxed very slightly. “It is good to meet you, Harry-san,” she mumbled. Harry made a mental note to ask what ‘-san’ meant later.

“Based on what I was told a few minutes ago, Sakura, I think that we’re cousins?” Harry asked carefully. She could not very well be anyone else, but he was curious what Sakura herself knew.

Sakura curled up into a ball, though she didn’t shut her eyes this time. She rocked gently, then nodded. “Aa. Vernon-oji-sama…” this time the extra sounds seemed to tremble, as though she was both terrified of saying them and of leaving them off. “He told me that I would have two itoko—I mean…” she trailed off, biting her lip for a moment, before continuing with a shiver, “two _cousins_ living here with me for a few months during this summer. That they were the wonderful D-Dudley-san, and an awful boy.” She looked up at Harry and whispered, “But you don’t seem very awful, Harry-san.”

“Uncle Vernon is a pig and an oaf, and I will be _damned_ if I’m going to let him hurt you ever again,” said Harry, his voice low but firm. She stared back at him, her eyes shining, and started to uncurl her tiny limbs. Very slowly, Harry reached a hand out toward her, stopping when it was within her arm’s reach. “Would you like to run away with me, Cousin Sakura?”

She bit her lip, apparently thinking hard—likely thinking it was too good to be true, after her run-in with Vernon—but then she nodded and reached tremulously for him. He let her take his hand at her own pace, and gently helped her out of the cupboard. He glanced back in after her, and noticed that half of the space under the stairs had been taken up by a small packing crate, and a pink backpack sized for a five-year-old. 

Harry lifted the backpack out, noticing a pattern of swirling cherry blossoms. It was very pretty, he thought, and he told Sakura so as he handed it to her. She nodded earnestly.

“It was a gift from Kaa-chan,” she told him, sniffling. Then she flinched and corrected, “A gift from _my mother_.”

“As long as you’re willing to explain to me what those words mean,” Harry told Sakura quietly, “You don’t have to correct yourself like that.”

Sakura nodded, tears of gratitude filling her eyes. She unzipped her backpack to show him the contents. “This is my journal, and these are books from Kaa-chan. And I have a picture of my family, and I have Kuma-chan,” she indicated a fuzzy brown ear that Harry thought might belong to a stuffed bear.

Harry smiled down at her. The “books from Kaa-chan” were not insubstantial for such a small young girl, and the fact that she was apparently bilingual as well was not lost on Harry. He would have to have a discussion with Hermione about what to do with a precocious primary-schooler. 

He retrieved the packing crate as well, idly noting the S.O.E. stenciled on the side, and asked Sakura, “Is this everything?” She nodded shyly, and he continued, “All right then, you wait right here by the foot of the stairs for me to get my trunk, and we’ll get out of here.”

She nodded again, and perched herself nervously on the edge of the packing crate, fiddling with the straps on her backpack. Harry bounded back up the stairs. Not having had time to unpack, and being unsure of how long the Dursleys might be out, it would be best if he and Sakura were long gone before they returned. He lugged his trunk straight back downstairs and deposited it beside Sakura, then set Hedwig’s cage down beside the girl.

“Sakura, this is my owl Hedwig,” he introduced, perfectly used to speaking to the owl as though to anyone else. “Hedwig, this is my cousin Sakura.” The snowy owl blinked large amber eyes at the small girl, and hooted once. Sakura gave a slightly unsteady smile.

“Can I pet her?” she asked, still timid.

“When we get to where we’re going,” Harry promised. “For now…” he opened his trunk and fished out a packet of Owl Nuts. “You can feed her these while I nick some food from the pantry. Don’t mind if she nips your finger,” he added, as Sakura took the Owl Nuts from him. “Hedwig won’t hurt you.”

By the time the Owl Nuts were gone, Sakura was smiling happily, and Harry had thrown a half-dozen tins of preserved food and packages of crackers into his trunk. It wasn’t exactly haute cuisine, and he hoped they wouldn’t need them, but it would do in a pinch, and it was better to be safe than sorry. He forced the trunk lid shut with difficulty.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked. Sakura nodded earnestly, and Harry couldn’t help but smile. He felt thrilled when she returned the smile, though shakily. He pulled open the front door, and handed Hedwig’s cage to Sakura. “Hold on tight to this, okay?” This time her nod carried all the solemnity a young child could muster, and Harry’s smile widened.

Harry hoisted Sakura’s packing crate on top of his trunk, and heaved it out onto the front step. Harry darted back inside to shut the doors of the pantry, the cupboard under the stairs, and his now-former bedroom, before rejoining Sakura on the stoop and locking the front door behind them.

He dragged the trunk and crate as far as the end of the driveway with Sakura right behind him. “How are we going to get away anywhere before someone comes back, Harry-san?” she asked him nervously.

“With a little magic,” he winked. Sakura’s eyes widened in surprise, but before she could ask a question, Harry continued, “But first, we need to talk to a friend of mine.”

He turned back to face Number Four and barked, “Who’s there?”

There was no answer.

“I _know_ someone’s there, after all the ridiculous things that happened to me last year,” Harry insisted. “Don’t make me _find_ you!” 

It was basically an empty threat, seeing as how Harry was underage and thus unable to use magic outside school, but it was all he could do. He could only hope that his Order guard today wasn’t someone who would go tearing off to tell Professor Dumbledore that Harry had left Privet Drive. Harry had agreed to return himself, at the Headmaster’s request, and knowing he could handle whatever the Dursleys could try to do to him by now. But he would not subject an innocent child—his own family!—to the Dursley’s abuse.

“Wotcher, Harry,” said a quiet voice out of thin air. Sakura jumped, and moved to hide behind Harry, looking frightened, but Harry gave a broad grin.

“Wotcher, Tonks,” he replied easily. He put a hand on Sakura’s head to reassure her. “It’s okay, Sakura; this is the friend of mine.”

“A y-yurei?” she asked. 

He could feel her trembling, and he knelt down to put himself on her level without moving away from her. Rubbing his hand against her back, he said calmly, “I’m not sure what that is, Sakura. Do you know what that word means in English?”

“Uhm… S-spirit?” she translated, tentatively.

“Ghost, maybe?” Harry guessed. “Like the soul of someone who is gone?” Sakura nodded, but Harry shook his head. “Then no, this is not a yurei.” He was sure he had butchered the pronunciation, and Sakura’s lip twitched slightly. “This is my friend Tonks. She’s just invisible right now.” He glanced up at the spot where Tonks’ voice had come from. “Help me out here?”

They heard a sigh, then Tonks said, “Oh all right, but only because she’s so cute.” A moment later, there was a sort of ripple in the air, and Tonks’ heart-shaped face suddenly appeared, hovering there. She smiled at Sakura and spread the invisibility cloak a bit wider, so that the younger girl could see that it was merely a magic cloth wrapped around her. “You’re good with kids, Harrykins.”

Sakura, meanwhile, had gasped, “ _Sore wa honmono no kakuremino desu! _” and immediately broke from Harry to touch the seams of the cloak, looking equal parts fascinated and ecstatic.__

Looking at Tonks more closely, Harry thought she seemed paler than usual, and drawn, as though she was ill, though she was plainly trying to hide it behind her usual style. Before Harry could ponder any further what might be bothering her, though, Tonks blew and popped a bubble with her chewing gum, and said glibly to Sakura, “I like your hair, kiddo.”

Sakura, noticing that Tonks’ hair was almost the same color as her own, smiled back. Harry smirked up at Tonks. “I think Sakura’s is natural, though,” he told the Metamorph, who scowled down at him, causing Sakura to giggle. Tonks screwed up her face in concentration, as though struggling to remember something, and with a tiny _pop_ Tonks’ hair was suddenly exactly the same as Sakura’s, except without the red ribbon the little girl wore as a headband. Sakura’s eyes widened so much they seemed to bulge, but her face was split in a toothy grin.

Tonks looked back at Harry, and her face resolved into concern. “Where are you going?” she asked, eying the trunk and packing crate behind Harry.

“Right now? To get a room at the Leaky Cauldron,” Harry replied, having no wish to lie to Tonks. “After that? Not sure.” He shrugged. “But I’m not letting Sakura stay in that house. Tonks, being an auror, had not missed the bruise on Sakura’s cheek, and nodded solemnly. 

“Even if we have to disappear for a bit, I’ll keep in touch somehow,” Harry promised. “Hedwig can always find me. Though, we may well end up at the Burrow or even Headquarters.”

Tonks shook her head. “We’ve had to stop using Headquarters since Sirius…” 

Harry nodded. “I suppose that makes sense, doesn’t it. Well, I’m sure we’ll get that sorted out. Oh, and I never got to thank you for coming to save us.”

Tonks rolled her eyes, her gauntness seeming to recede momentarily until she was almost her normal self. “You don’t have to thank me, Harry. I was doing my job, as both an Auror and an Order Member.” Her eyes seemed to dim on the last two words.

“Still,” said Harry earnestly. “Thanks, Tonks.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get moving. I know you won’t lie to Professor Dumbledore, but I’ve got some things that need to be figured out before I can think about anything else.” He rested his hand on Sakura’s head, and—though Tonks didn’t know it—was also referring obliquely to Sirius’ Will, which still had to be settled.

“I won’t say anything unless he asks, Harry,” Tonks promised. “He will, though; I guarantee it.”

Harry shrugged. “So be it. Take care of yourself, Tonks.”

She waved him off, and vanished again under the cloak with a final, “Good luck!”

* * *

As Tonks disappeared, Harry turned back to Sakura. “Ready to see that bit of magic?” he asked. She nodded eagerly, and Harry prepared to call the Knight Bus. 

Before he did so, he hesitated for a fraction of a moment. He knew that muggles couldn’t see the Knight Bus, so what would he do if Sakura couldn’t see it? Would they be able to board anyway? Could he somehow make her see the bus? Of course, there was the possibility she _would_ be able to see it, meaning she was magical…he thought. You didn’t need a wand to call the Knight Bus, you just had to stick out your wand arm. Well, if she couldn’t see it, he’d have to find some way to carry or bribe Sakura on board, and if _that_ didn’t work, the two of them would just figure something else out. All this flashed through Harry’s mind in that frozen instant, before he flung out his right hand toward the pavement as though…well, as though he were flagging down a bus.

There was a tremendous BANG, and the violently purple, triple-decker Knight Bus careened to a stop right in front of them. The doors swung open and a pimply, jug-eared young man in a matching violet uniform leapt out.

“Welcome to the–!” he began to shout. 

“Thanks, Stan. Two to London.” Harry cut Stanley Shunpike off by shoving two galleons into his hand, and then pointedly grabbing one handle of his trunk.

“Oh, it’s oo, ‘Arry!” said Stan happily, grabbing the other handle and helping Harry hoist his trunk on board. “You c’n sit righ’ up front if y’like. Bot’om deck’s all empty; shouldn’ be too long to London at all. Righ’, Ern?”

“Ar,” acknowledged the elderly driver, Ernie Prang. Harry had met the two just before his thirteenth birthday, when he had fled Privet Drive to escape his Uncle’s wrath after performing accidental magic.

Glancing back, Harry found Sakura staring up at him and Stan uncertainly. “Say, Stan, you told me a couple years ago that muggles can’t see the Bus at all, right?”

“Nope,” said Stan, shrugging as he helped Harry stow the trunk. “Like I told you, they never notice nuffink.”

“Do you know if squibs can see it?” Harry pressed, as he hopped back out of the bus momentarily.

“Dunno,” said Stan, slowly. “I don’ _reckon_ they can, though. Ern?”

“Ar,” Ernie’s grunt was negative this time. “Gotta have magic to see it.”

“Well, Sakura, can you see the Bus?” Harry asked his cousin. 

She nodded, then looked around and whispered to Harry, “Why is it so _purple_?”

Harry had to chuckle. “I’m not sure. But the fact that you can see it means you can see things that are hidden from most people. Maybe you can learn to use magic someday.” Harry grinned at her and offered his hand. She took it more confidently than before, and Harry helped her clamber up the steps. 

As they moved to take their seats, Stan said, “‘Old up a momen’!” Harry turned to him, but found Stan with his eye on a pocketwatch. “Free…” the spotted young man mumbled. “Two… One…” As he snapped the watch shut, the squashy armchairs making up the bus’s seating seemed to shimmer, before each turned into a brass-framed bed. “Now you can sit.”

Sakura was staring at the nearest bed, goggle-eyed, so Harry scooped her up and settled her on it. She gasped at the sudden contact, then appeared to forget about it as she poked and prodded at the bed itself, as though expecting it to disappear.

Still grinning, Harry sat at the foot of the bed opposite, facing Stan, both to chat and to be prepared for–

BANG! 

The Knight Bus leapt away from Privet Drive to a wide, empty road in the country, and both Harry and Sakura were flung flat onto their beds. Harry, who had been expecting it, recovered quickly and did his best to reassure his cousin that the bus was safe. 

“Right, Stan?”

“Oh, safe as safe c’n be,” said Stan airily. “We’ve not ‘ad no accidents in free weeks, easy.”

Not entirely reassured, Sakura remained laying down, clutching her backpack. Harry leaned over to tousle her hair, and she gave him a small, rather shaky smile.

“So, ‘oo migh’ this be, ‘Arry?”

Harry smiled. “This is my little cousin, Stan. Her name is Sakura.”

“I fhought your family was Muggles?” Stan asked curiously. Harry just shrugged.

“Sakura was born outside of the country,” he said by way of explanation. “I think her mum was probably a muggle, but it looks like Sakura might be magical.” He smiled fondly at the thrilled-looking roseate little girl. “I mean, you really _can_ see everything around you, right?” he teased.

Sakura looked indignant. “Of _course_ I can!” she exclaimed, forgetting to be shy. “I can see the bed that used to be a chair, and the chandelier, and the big purple bus, and–” she frowned at Harry’s and Stan’s laughter, starting to curl in on herself again. “You’re making fun of me…”

Harry rolled off his bed toward her at once, shaking his head. “No, we’re not making fun of you, Sakura. I was teasing you a little because you seemed so nervous and interested in the bed, but I guess that isn’t fair, because you’ve never seen anything quite like this before, have you?”

Sakura shook her head as the bus juddered to a halt again.

“I’m guessing her father wasn’t a wizard either,” Harry said to Stan, who was tipping his hat to an elderly witch tottering down the steps.

He noticed Sakura open her mouth as though to correct him, but before he could even turn to look at her, she had closed it again. Being five, she didn’t have a very good poker face, but Harry could see no reason to pursue the subject.

“Now,” Harry looked back at Sakura, timing it as the doors closed and Ern started to pull back out into traffic. “I feel a little guilty for teasing you, and I feel like I should put a smile on my face. So I think the best plan is–”

BANG!

The Knight Bus jumped again, this time to a sleepy village square; parked cars and dustbins leapt out of the Knight Bus’ path, and then back into place once it had passed, as the vehicle swerved wildly back and forth across the road. Sakura’s head hit her pillow as she was flung backwards, but Harry—as he had planned—took a pratfall and went tumbling a little way down the aisle.

Harry climbed laboriously to his feet, groaning and rubbing his backside theatrically. Sakura giggled, and Harry slid back onto his own bed. Stan, meanwhile, had retrieved his customary newspaper. Harry rolled his eyes. To say he didn't much care for the _Daily Prophet_ would be a gross understatement—the popular newspaper had spent the whole of the previous year casting aspersions on Harry's sanity, first implying, then later outright calling him an attention-seeking liar. 

Still, he wasn't exactly up to date on current events, so Harry made himself ask, “Any big news? I haven’t seen today’s paper yet,” he added, which was technically true.

Stan chuckled. “Told you back when we firs’ met, ya ought ta read the papers more.” He turned a page idly. “Big news is everywhere now You-Know-‘Oo is out in the open. Gian’s in the Wes’ Country, we thinks.”

Harry scowled, disliking the thought that Voldemort could be out committing atrocities while he, Harry, was stuck in Privet Drive. Well, he corrected himself as his eyes fell on Sakura, staring avidly out the window, he _would_ have been stuck. Instead, he had a five-year-old’s well-being to worry about. Harry could not continue to be complacent and reactive, so he decided to take a leaf out of Hermione’s book and start getting the paper anyway. In fact, while he was at it, he would take out a subscription to _The Quibbler_ as well—the magazine mostly printed rubbish, but there was always the chance of learning something interesting which would never be seen anywhere else. He would also need to withdraw some money from Gringotts bank, and change some of it for Muggle money. 

Overall, Harry thought, he needed to be more proactive, and stop waiting for others to save him while he poked around on his own. There was no way he would stop being independent, of course, but better preparation could only be a good thing considering how often he, Ron, and Hermione wound up brushing with death. That was not acceptable anymore—while Harry would fight Voldemort until his dying breath, he needed to be able to make a better life for Sakura, since the alternative was her being returned to the Dursleys. In other words, no alternative he was prepared to accept.

* * *

Five jarring stops later, the Knight Bus pulled up in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Sakura, incredibly, had fallen asleep three jumps back, so Harry picked her up carefully and carried her off the bus. Stan hauled the trunk, crate, and Hedwig’s cage down to the curb as a favor. Harry tossed him an extra few sickles, saluted the Bus as it vanished, then rapped firmly on the door of the old pub and inn.

After a moment, the lock clicked, and the door opened to reveal, not the wizened and toothless barman Tom, but a pretty girl around Harry’s age, with long golden-blonde hair in two characteristic pigtails.

“Hannah?” he asked, bewildered.

“Harry?” Hannah Abbott sounded just as surprised as he was. “Who is that?” she added, her eyes on the sleeping little girl in Harry’s arms.

“Little cousin,” he explained again, shortly. “Er, Hannah… Do you know where Tom might be? I need to see if we can get a room.”

“Uncle Tom isn’t feeling well,” Hannah replied. “But room 13 is free. One prince-sized double with attached bath; twelve galleons a night.”

Harry blinked. “Er…yeah, thanks,” Harry said, trying to retrieve his money bag without jarring Sakura, who tightened her arms around his neck in her sleep. Harry tried not to choke—she had a strong grip for her size. Finally, frustrated, he thrust a handful of gold at Hannah and croaked, “If that’s not enough for tonight, I’ll give you the rest once she’s in bed.”

Hannah nodded. “Follow me, then. I’ll bring your things up in just a moment.” 

She led him up to a plain but polished door at the end of the hall on the second floor, and unlocked it for him so he could lay Sakura down on the bed. His cousin was still dressed, but her clothes were loose and comfortable, so he simply pulled off her shoes and slipped the backpack off her shoulders.

Sakura stirred at this, reaching sleepily for the backpack and mumbling something that sounded like, “Kuma-chan.” Harry opened the backpack, and found the stuffed bear, which Sakura immediately latched onto when he offered it. 

As Harry covered her up, he noticed that the bear had wings stitched to its back. _What an oddity_ he thought distractedly, tucking Sakura in. He turned at a soft knock on the door, and opened it to find Hannah carrying Sakura’s packing crate. He took it from her and settled his bill, then padded back downstairs to retrieve his own trunk and Hedwig’s cage. Hannah followed him gracefully.

“Harry, what did you mean ‘little cousin’?” Hannah asked curiously. “Neville said—Err, I had thought, I mean…” she stammered uncertainly. “I understood that the family who…brought you up…were muggles.”

Harry shrugged, not sure why she had tried to hid that she had heard it from Neville Longbottom, who was one of Harry’s dormmates and who he knew often partnered with Neville in their best subject, Herbology. Harry honestly didn’t know Hannah very well, but if she was close friends with Neville…Harry was confident in Neville’s judgment, and it wasn’t like he was giving away any real secrets here. 

“They are, that’s my mother’s older sister’s family,” he explained, giving more detail this time. “Apparently she and my mum had another older sister who left the country though. I don’t think she was a witch, but it looks like Sakura may be.”

“Sakura?” Hannah repeated.

Harry shrugged as he grabbed the handle of his trunk. “Not sure where she lived before, yet. I was more concerned with getting her out of that house.”

Hannah took the other handle and helped him lift the trunk with only a little difficulty. “Why was that so important?”

Unable to shrug again, Harry jerked his head noncommittally. “It’s not…the best environment,” he replied carefully. “I’m plenty used to it, but if I can offer a sweet little girl better…” he trailed off, and Hannah did not press further.

She helped him set the trunk down at the foot of the bed, and smiled when Harry immediately checked on Sakura. She handed him the room key, which he realized he had completely forgotten about, and said, “I’ll put out some food for your owl, and we’ll square up cost in the morning when I let Uncle Tom know you’re here. Good night, Harry.”

“Thanks, Hannah,” he said with a tired smile. “G’night.”

After locking the door and dropping the key on the bedside table, Harry changed into pajamas and got into bed, snuffing the single lamp. It wasn’t very late, but it had been a _very_ tiring day. As he settled down, Sakura rolled over and sleepily murmured, “Oyasumi nasai, Harry-nii-san…” 

Harry, naturally, didn’t know the words, but he understood the intent well enough. “Good night, little Sakura,” he whispered back, brushing his knuckles softly across her cheek, before shutting his eyes and missing the contented smile that flickered across her tiny sleeping face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t like writing super!characters or flagrantly breaking the established rules of a universe, so while admittedly some characters (even Harry) could be considered slightly OOC compared to canon, there are some extra background details that define this somewhat as an AU.  
> Harry (to use him as an example) is somewhat more grounded and responsible than he was in canon; he tends to think things through more thoroughly and generally learns from his mistakes.
> 
> I’m not worried too much about translations, at least at this point, because none of the Japanese terms are particularly special. Most of the time Sakura will offer Harry an explanation, and even when she doesn’t, she’s saying pretty much what you think she’s saying.
> 
>  _Edit_ : Special shout out to **Opinr** on FFN for pointing out that all instances of 'god' had been replaced with 'Lord Helix'…causing Sirius to be referred to repeatedly as Harry's Lord Helixfather. This was not intentional; it was a combination of a malfunctioning Chrome extension and the ongoing trouble I am currently having with FFN. I caught it in the other story I updated tonight, but thought this one was clear. Thanks!


	2. Can And Will

Harry rose at dawn automatically. Living in Scotland the majority of the year helped allay his rigid internal clock somewhat, but returning to Privet Drive always brought it roaring back. He stared at the ceiling for a while, unable to go back to sleep, but surprisingly comfortable with the small, warm shape of his cousin curled up next to him.

Finally, bored, Harry slipped out of the bed, ready for a shower. Sakura gave a sleepy mewl, rolling over and reaching after him. As he tucked her back in, he noticed that she had lost the bear sometime in the night. He retrieved it from the crack above the bed and placed it in her questing hand. She wrapped both arms tightly about it and stilled.

The shower was blissfully hot. As he washed and then dressed—in muggle clothes—Harry pondered what they would be able to do today. The Alley would be bustling in a few hours, but Gringotts should already be open. First on his to-do list today would be to withdraw some gold, change some of it for muggle money, and go shopping: Sakura would need a trunk—or rather, he would need a new one, so that the packing crate could be re-packed into his current trunk. A trip to Flourish and Blotts was definitely in order, as well as Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, and perhaps even the higher-class shop, Twilfitt and Tattings. 

A shopping trip in the muggle world also wouldn’t go amiss, either; Harry could do with some muggle clothes that weren’t six sizes too large, and he would have to inventory Sakura’s belongings as well. If possible, he would try pick up a simple phrasebook for Sakura’s native language too, and he supposed whatever textbooks she thought looked interesting. Actually, for that matter, his own muggle education was basically nonexistent after primary school, so perhaps he ought to get some books for himself as well. Hermione would be a big help there, though; perhaps he should put off the muggle half of the excursion until he could contact her.

Actually, now he thought about it, if he was going to Gringotts anyway, he should probably have an idea what they wanted to discuss regarding his godfather’s Will.

He stepped back into the bedroom with a renewed sense of purpose to find Sakura sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. “Ohayou, Harry-san,” she yawned.

“Good morning, Sakura,” he smiled. “The bathroom is through here if you want to wash your face.”

Stifling another yawn, she clambered out of bed and padded over to the packing crate, fishing inside until she found a red dress that met her liking. The door shut behind her, and after a moment, Harry heard the shower start.

Harry sat down at the desk and wrote a short note:

_Hermione,_  
_I’m in a bit of a situation and I need your help. It’s nothing dangerous, or anything, but I could really use your advice._  
_Can you meet me in Diagon Alley today around lunchtime? If not, let me know when you can._  
_Thanks,_  
_Harry_

This he rolled up and set aside, to be delivered after he read through the Will. Scanning it, Harry quickly found himself out of his depth, and mentally reminded himself to speak to the goblins about hiring a solicitor. Perhaps Hermione would have a suggestion about that as well. He was folding up the Will once more when the bathroom door opened, and a damp-haired Sakura emerged with her dirty clothes in one hand and her hair-ribbon in the other. She packed the laundry away, then perched herself on the edge of the bed with a hairbrush.

Harry, meanwhile, had crossed the room and unlatched Hedwig’s cage. The regal bird stepped onto his arm and stuck out her leg professionally. Harry chortled, stroking her head. “In a moment, girl; first, I promised Sakura she could meet you properly.” 

Hedwig hooted in her usual dignified manner, and Sakura perked up. “Sakura, I promised you could pet Hedwig once we got where we were going.” He knelt down beside the bed so that the owl was in easy reach. “Well, we’re here, so now you can,” He grinned. Sakura smiled back. “Stroke in the direction of the feathers,” he instructed, demonstrating. “Be gentle so you don’t pull any out, and otherwise, just treat her with respect. She’s a very smart owl; I guarantee she understands what we’re saying right now.”

Hedwig gave a half-indignant little bark, looking reprovingly at Harry. Harry laughed. “What did I tell you?” He scratched under Hedwig’s neck feathers. “Now, Hedwig, in case you didn’t catch it all, this is my cousin Sakura. She’s my family; do you think you would mind carrying mail for her?” This time the owl’s call was gentle and definitely approving. Harry smiled. 

Sakura finished petting Hedwig and returned to brushing out her hair, so Harry transferred the owl to the back of the desk chair and tied the scroll to her leg. “This is for Hermione. I’m hoping she’ll be able to meet me later today, so fly well, girl.” He carried Hedwig to the window, and she nipped his finger affectionately before taking flight.

Turning back to the room, Harry rubbed his hands together. Sakura was just tying the ribbon back in her hair. “Ready to get some breakfast?” She nodded, hopping back off the bed to pull her sandals on.

Slipping his wand up his sleeve and picking up his money bag, Harry locked the door behind them, dropped the key into his jeans pocket, and then led the way down to a small parlor. He rang a tiny bell on the table, and after a moment, the door opened to reveal Hannah with a small notepad and a muggle pencil behind her ear.

“‘Morning Harry,” she said cheerily. “And this must be Sakura?”

“Yep,” said Harry. “Sakura, this is Hannah; she goes to school with me.”

“Hello, Hannah,” said a suddenly shy Sakura.

“I’ll have a full fry-up, Hannah,” Harry said. “For Sakura… What do you usually eat for breakfast, Sakura?”

“Eto…” the direct question seemed to cut through her bashfulness. “Toasted bread and jam, rice, fruit, natto, miso…”

“I’m not sure what all of that is, but let’s see how well we can do,” Harry instructed Hannah. “Toast and marmalade, plain rice, a banana, and fried egg. Plus some orange and pumpkin juice, please.”

“Got it,” she scribbled on her pad for a moment, mumbling, “Justin was right, this thing _is_ convenient…” She shut the door again, calling, “Back in a few!”

“She seems really nice,” Sakura mumbled.

“I think so, too,” said Harry. “I don’t know her very well, but one of my good friends is also one of her good friends, so we get along.” Sakura nodded, accepting this. “Sakura, what were those other foods you mentioned? Natto and miso?”

“Miso is a soup,” she answered. “You can put lots of different things in it, like negi or konbu or daikon. Natto is a special way to make beans.” Her mouth twisted. “I don’t like the taste very much, but Kaa-chan said natto is very good for you.”

Harry’s head was spinning; he had asked about two foods but the answer had just raised more questions. He really needed that dictionary, he decided. Still, there was no need to upset Sakura, so he nodded. “There are some things it’s important to eat even if you don’t like them,” he agreed. “Like sprouts.”

Hannah returned shortly thereafter, balancing a large platter. She set a single plate in front of Sakura, and two rather larger ones in front of Harry. “Thanks, Hannah,” he said, buttering a piece of toast before preparing to dig into his bacon, sausages, fried eggs, fried tomatoes, baked beans, and hash browns.

He paused when he noticed Sakura staring perplexedly at her silverware. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“There’s no…” she paused. “I don’t know the word for _hashi_.” She made a pinching motion with her fingers, and Harry understood.

“We call them ‘chopsticks’,” he said. “I’m not sure why.” He drew his wand—grateful that his proximity to Diagon Alley would prevent his underage magic from being Traced directly to him—and transfigured her knife and fork into fairly similarly-shaped rods. “Sorry, I’m not very good at freeform Transfiguration,” Harry confessed. “Is that close enough to eat with?”

She nodded, picking up one of them and examining it, fascinated. Harry returned to his meal, watching her deftly picking up bits of rice and egg with her improvised chopsticks. He slid a sausage and a few slices of fried tomato onto her plate as well. “Try these.”

Perhaps misunderstanding, she stacked them carefully, then ate them together, but her eyes widened. “Good!” she chirped. Then she leaned over to his plate and plucked up one of his baked beans. She pulled a face. “Not good…”

He gave her the rest of his tomatoes instead.

* * *

After eating, and paying Hannah for both the meal and another night’s stay, Harry offered Sakura his hand, which she hesitantly took, and led the way out the back door and through the hidden archway into Diagon Alley. Sakura’s eyes were as round as sickles, and showed no signs of stopping as her head swiveled back and forth, trying to take in all the sights of the Alley at once. Harry smiled fondly, remembering feeling much the same on his eleventh birthday.

Sakura’s hair got a few odd looks on the way up the street, and Harry got a few more when they noticed that it was the Boy Who Lived escorting the strange little girl. Harry, for his part, was examining the new purple posters that appeared here and there, detailing security advice against Dark activity.

They walked up the white marble front steps of Gringotts bank, through a pair of bronze doors flanked not by goblin guards in scarlet and gold uniforms, as Harry remembered, but by Ministry wizards, with badges from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and armed with what appeared to be long, golden television aerials. They passed these over Harry and Sakura, then waved them through. The pair stepped into the atrium facing another set of doors, this time silver, with the ominous inscription Harry remembered from five years previously.

“Who are those people?” Sakura asked, her fingers tightening in his.

“Those are goblins, Sakura,” Harry told her. 

Here by the second set of doors stood the goblin guards as Harry remembered them. The goblins bowed to them as they entered, and Sakura paused to bow back. Harry, stopping because she had, saw what he thought were looks of surprise on the goblins’ faces, and hastened to imitate his cousin. If they had been shocked before, they now looked positively flabbergasted. Pondering this, Harry continued into the Main Hall. 

It being fairly early in the morning, there wasn’t much of a line, so Harry stepped right up to an unoccupied counter.

“Name?” grunted the goblin working there, without looking up.

“Harry Potter.”

Now the goblin raised his dark eyes to Harry’s. “You received our letter?”

“I did,” Harry confirmed. “I wish to access my vault this morning to do some shopping; if it’s possible, can I make an appointment to discuss the letter this afternoon?”

“Certainly,” the goblin nodded, his eyes dropping to his ledger once more. “I shall make you an appointment for four p.m., if that is convenient?” He squinted up at Harry again, who nodded.

“That will be fine.”

“Your key?”

Harry passed over the tiny golden key. The goblin examined it minutely, then returned it to Harry.

“Perfectly in order. Your wand?” Harry was confused, but passed the goblin his wand. The goblin prodded at it for a moment, then laid it on a peculiar device, like a set of scales with only one balance. “Excellent.” He handed it back to Harry. “And your guest?” This time he did not look up.

“Will accompany me for now, and this afternoon,” said Harry, firmly. “I am responsible for her. I am also hoping to have at least one other guest with me when we return, if I can.”

“Very well,” said the goblin. “I shall mark down yourself plus four. For now, please accompany me, Master Potter.”

Harry and Sakura followed the goblin through one of the many doors leading off the hall, and climbed into one of the famous Gringotts carts. 

“Hold on tight,” Harry told his cousin, and with a sudden jerk, they were off and rattling through a maze of twisty little passages, all alike. Harry didn’t bother trying to memorize the path anymore; the few times he had attempted, he remembered completely different things, and the carts moved far too quickly to be sure of anything. Eventually, they slowed to a halt outside Vault 687—Harry’s vault—which he opened with his key. The goblin politely remained in the cart.

Not knowing when he might be able to return, and uncertain of the exact exchange rate with muggle money, Harry swept a large amount of gold into his money bag, grateful for the Expansion and Featherlight charms on it.

“Eto…” Harry glanced up. Sakura’s eyes were wide again. “Does…all of this…belong to you?”

“Yes,” Harry said. He smiled. “The Dursleys have never known about this, and they couldn’t steal it away even if they did know. I won’t have any trouble taking care of you, Sakura; I want to and I _can_.”

To her credit, the girl blushed a little. She was obviously smart enough to know that these metals were precious, and that having a lot of them meant Harry was fairly wealthy. Harry, having grown up reluctantly-taken care of, occasionally neglected, and never expecting any sort of pocket money, rarely gave much thought to his Gringotts vault, but now that he had Sakura to worry about… Harry cast a more studious eye over the vault’s remaining contents. He would need to budget carefully from now on, he supposed. Yet something else that he would be able to do better with Hermione’s assistance. Harry added it to the list of questions to ask her over lunch. 

Harry re-locked the vault behind him, and he and Sakura climbed back into the cart, which was now somehow facing the other direction. “Thank you…” Harry trailed off, because the goblin had not given his name.

The goblin shot him a sharp look, but—apparently reluctantly—provided his name: “I am Gornuk.”

Remembering the reactions of the goblins in the Atrium above, Harry offered a bow, as did Sakura alongside him. “Thank you for bringing me to my vault, Gornuk,” he repeated, formally. Then, in a stroke of inspiration, he also remembered the words which had closed the note Gringotts had sent him along with his godfather’s Will, and added, “May your gold always flow.”

Gornuk looked thunderstruck. “May your victories be eternal,” he breathed finally, still staring at Harry like he had grown an extra head. 

Harry clambered back into the cart, and hoisted his cousin up after him. She seemed to be more and more comfortable around him, and didn’t flinch anymore when he touched her, which he could only consider a good sign.

When they returned to the Main Hall, Harry laid his newly-filled money pouch on the counter and requested half the contents be changed to muggle money. Harry took the subsequent roll of banknotes and stuffed them deep into one of his pockets, before retrieving the money bag as well. He offered Gornuk another bow, and promised to return promptly at four. As they exited, Harry glanced back to see that Gornuk had left his counter, and was passing through a highly-polished iron door with a bronze plaque that simply read ‘Offices’.

* * *

Harry and Sakura exited the bank to find the Alley a little more crowded, but still nothing like what Harry was used to. The news that Voldemort’s return was real had obviously shaken most people; the handful of shoppers out were moving around in small clumps, staring uneasily at each other. Harry sighed, took Sakura’s hand again, and went looking for a shop he was sure he remembered seeing. 

After perhaps ten minutes’ ambling up the Alley, he found it: Chisham’s Captivating Cases, a magical luggage supplier. The shopfront looked a bit run-down; Harry even thought he saw some cracks in the brickwork under the Ministry poster that half-covered the display window. From behind it, a Chest seemed to shuffle slightly to the side to get better in view, nudging the tiny placard reading _Genuine Pearwood_. Well, he didn’t need a trunk that moved on its own, but the display was certainly handsome.

Within, the place put him in mind of an attic, except for the lack of dust. There were trunks of every size and shape, some open, some shut, some chained down and rattling. He edged away from those, looking at some of the models boasting Expansion charms.

“Ah! How can I help you, young man?”

Harry looked up. The proprietor of the shop, a middle-aged wizard with salt-and-pepper hair was moving his way. Their eyes met, and the shopowner’s eyes widened.

“Mister Potter!” he gasped. “Please, forgive me; I didn’t realize…”

“Not at all,” said Harry, uncomfortably—both because he had always disliked the attention of his fame, and because Sakura was watching the exchange curiously. She really was far too clever for her own good, he thought, squeezing her hand fondly. He’d have to tell her about himself today at lunch, he supposed.

“Please, allow me to assist you!” the proprietor said breathlessly. “I am Gilbert Chisham, and welcome to Chisham’s Captivating Cases.”

“Charmed,” said Harry, “I’m looking for a new trunk, obviously; the one I have has served me well, but I’m a little nervous about security, and I’d like one that can carry a bit more.”

Mister Chisham grew less unctuous as he began naming off products, clearly taking pride in his work. The more questions Harry asked, the more certain he was that he had met the real proprietor, and as he and Harry began dickering gently, Harry decided that Mister Chisham had made a sale. Eventually, they shook hands, and it was only as Harry passed over the agreed-upon gold that Mister Chisham seemed to remember who he was speaking to.

“Wait, I—” he began to say, but Harry cut across him.

“Now, Mister Chisham, this is what we agreed on, and I won’t go a knut higher.” he smiled, knowing that the man had been about to offer a discount for The Boy Who Lived. “Have a wonderful day, sir.” Mister Chisham reluctantly wrote him a receipt for the full amount, and Harry levitated his newly-purchased trunk out of the shop. It was made of plain, but highly polished mahogany, with highly-charmed brass fittings that helped it slide smoothly on any surface despite the lack of wheels. While fairly large, it was enchanted to be feather-light and perfectly balanced, and it had four large locks on the front, each of which opened with a different key, to reveal four distinct storage spaces, all of which were larger inside than out. Overall, Harry was highly pleased.

Their next stop was Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, where Madam Malkin immediately began doting on Sakura, whose shyness returned in full measure until she was distracted by the floating ribbon taking her measurements by itself. Harry bought himself a new set of dress robes, very similar to his current ones, but which fit him better given that he had grown a bit in the last few years. He packed his and Sakura’s purchases into the trunk, and then it was off to… 

Harry stopped, staring openmouthed at the store front. He was not the only one. Number 93 Diagon Alley had two enormous display windows full to bursting with product displays bouncing, spinning, and whirring loud enough to be heard from the street, and a tremendous magenta sign over the door with flashing gold letters, reading: WEASLEYS’ WIZARD WHEEZES. 

Harry began to laugh, pushing gently past stunned passersby and into the shop.

“Hello?” he called. Apparently people were too intimidated even to enter, because the shop seemed deserted.

“Greetings!” called a loud, boisterous, and extremely familiar voice. “Oh—Harry!” A redheaded figure in horrible magenta robes bounded forward, seized his free hand, and began pumping it up and down. “So sorry, dear boy, if we’d known you were coming, we’d have tidied up!”

“Why’s that?” Harry chuckled.

“Got to make sure we make a good impression on our Chief Investor!” the twin before him exclaimed. He had never gotten the hand of telling them apart. “Oi! Fred! Get out here!”

“What?” called a nearly-identical voice from the back of the shop.

“Harry’s here!” George roared, still not having released Harry’s hand. 

Fred appeared as if from nowhere, also wearing the same atrocious shade of magenta. “Harry!” He reached to shake Harry’s other hand, before noticing that it was occupied. “And who might this gorgeous young lady be?” He dropped to a crouch, and offered his extended left hand to Sakura instead.

Harry squeezed her hand reassuringly, and she looked up at him. “These are some very good friends of mine, Fred and George Weasley.” He indicated the twin who was squatting in front of her. “That one’s Fred, unless they’re trying to trick us.”

“Nope, not this time,” said Fred, sitting patiently with his hand still out.

She shook it, finally. “My name is Sakura.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Sakura,” said George, for both the twins. “You’ll have to excuse my brother, he is rather scary.” He bumped Fred with his hip, and Fred tumbled absurdly before bounding back to his feet. Sakura giggled.

“It turns out my mum and Aunt Petunia had another sister, who was Sakura’s mother,” Harry summarized, finally extracting his hand from George’s crushing grip. “And what’s all this about Chief Investor? You made that sound suspiciously official.”

“Well…” Fred scratched his head uncomfortably. “We had to list you on the paperwork for tax reasons. Otherwise we probably would have been arrested.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he confessed. “Well…I don’t need to do anything else, do I?”

Fred looked at George. “Probably not, since you’re still a minor,” George said slowly. “Once you’re legally an adult, you’ll probably be able to write off investments like that. We’ll have to go over the paperwork again.”

Sighing, Harry added yet another question to his mental list.

“It also gives us a reason to write off products, if you buy them,” said Fred. “You don’t pay here, Harry; just tell people where you got the stuff and we’re square.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but George overrode him. “Law’s on our side, Harry. You’re an investor; you’ve got every right to our products, and we trust you not to clean us out.”

Harry shook his head. “You two…”

Fred looked horrified. “Don’t say things like that, Harry, you sound like mum!”

George elbowed Fred aside once more, and swept Sakura a low bow. “Might I have the honour of escorting the lady around the shop?” Giggling again, Sakura released Harry’s hand and followed George.

Rubbing his shoulder, Fred said, “Here, Harry, let me give you the tour.” They edged around the shop, Fred listing products as they went. “Anti-gravity Hats, Comb-a-Chameleons, Extendible Ears of course, you remember our Headless Hats…” They passed George and Sakura going the other way. “…Spell-Checking Quills, Repeating Rabbits, our now-famous Portable Swamps; over here we have our range of sweets, both trick and non-, including the Skiving Snackboxes; there by the window is our WonderWitch line, from cosmetics to love potions.”

“Love potions are legal?” Harry asked, surprised.

“You’re telling me,” Fred said, shaking his head. “I don’t even like stocking the things; George and I have been thinking we should just get rid of them.”

“I’m in favor,” said Harry, shuddering. “I don’t like the idea that just anyone could buy one and slip me some, just because they can. I might do a Moody from now on and use a hip flask for everything. And I’ve got Sakura to worry about, too.” He glanced around, satisfying himself that the shop was still empty save for them, and that Sakura was safe. The girl in question was sitting on George’s shoulders, stretching to try to grab a hat hovering above her head, just out of arm’s reach.

“What’s the story there, Harry?” Fred asked quietly, as they came to a stop beside the fireworks display.

“She really is my cousin,” Harry said. “I got home and the Dursleys had locked her under the stairs like they did to me. I wasn’t about to take that, so we ran away.”

“Are you staying somewhere safe?” said Fred. “Only you know Dumbledore…”

“I’m not convinced Dumbledore didn’t know about Sakura,” Harry said ominously. “We’re at the Leaky Cauldron right now, because Tonks said we can’t go back to Headquarters?” He deliberately left it a question.

“Dumbledore told us we had to clear out after Sirius died,” Fred told him. “Because he couldn’t find Sirius’ Will, and we weren’t sure if the house might have reverted to the ownership of the pureblood Black family. That would mean it went to his closest living relative; the oldest who hasn’t been disowned…”

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” Harry finished, almost growling. Then he said, “Just between us, I don’t know what’s going on yet, but Gringotts sent me a copy of Sirius’ Will. I’m meeting up with Hermione today to read it over before I have to talk it over with the goblins.”

“You’ve got the Will?” Fred repeated incredulously. Harry patted his pocket. “Blimey, Harry… I’m guessing nobody knows you’ve left the Dursleys?”

“Tonks knows,” Harry corrected. “So Dumbledore probably knows by now. But if the goblins are keeping Sirius’ Will from him for some reason, I want to know why before I see him. I will not let Sakura go back to the Dursleys.” He checked on his cousin again, almost unconsciously. “We’ve been out clothes shopping today, and there’s a few other things we’ll probably need.”

“We might be able to help you there, actually. Oi, George, c’mere.” 

George swept Sakura off his shoulders, sat her down on the lid of Harry’s trunk, then levitated the trunk along behind his brother and into a back room.

“This is where we’re stocking our more serious line,” Fred said. He picked up a bizarrely multicoloured scarf—patterned in stripes of heather blue, forest green, mauve, tan, toffee, salmon, and goldenrod—wrapped it gently around Harry’s neck, drew his wand, and shot some sparks at him. The sparks bounced away harmlessly. Fred then drew on a pair of gloves and held his arms spread wide. Harry fired a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and it too was deflected into the floor.

“Shield hats, shield cloaks, shield gloves, shield scarves,” George announced grandly. “They started off as a joke, but just last week we got a massive order from the Ministry for five hundred full sets; we literally can’t make them fast enough.”

Harry unwound the scarf, and tied it securely around Sakura’s neck instead. “It’s a bit of an eyesore, but I’ll take it,” he said, chortling.

Fred shrugged. “A muggle-born employee suggested the design. Said it was something her granddad would have loved.” He gestured around the smallish room. “You’re probably gonna get most of your stuff back here,” he added. “Like this stuff: Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. You toss it up in the air, and everything goes pitch black. Simple spells like _Lumos_ or conjured fires won’t work either; you’ve got to clear the air. Handy for a quick getaway.”

Harry frowned. “I don’t mean to sound like I’ve got any authority here,” he said slowly, “But that sounds like something Death Eaters could use.”

Fred stared at him.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. “I know it’s not my business, but—”

“No, you’re right,” George said, seriously. “I think we’d better pull this from our shelves for now.” 

Fred nodded. “You keep telling us what you think, Harry,” he said earnestly. “For instance…” Fred plucked a small, black object out of a terrarium labeled _Decoy Detonators_ , and held it up. “Looks like a little horn, right? When you drop it, it runs out of sight, then makes a big loud noise and a bunch of smoke. Great instant distraction.”

Harry lifted Sakura off the trunk, and opened a free compartment. Fred wrapped up several of the Decoy Detonators, and dropped them in, along with two full sets of shield clothes in Harry’s and Sakura’s sizes, and the entire display’s worth of Instant Darkness Powder.

Harry stared at George. George shrugged. “If you don’t use it, save it. It never goes bad. Or, give it away to D.A. kids, so you know it’s in the right hands. If it was something we’d designed, we’d find a way to incorporate a spell that can cut through it in an emergency, but we import this one from Peru.”

Ten minutes later, Harry had completed a full circuit of the shop, tossing—at the Twins’ insistence—anything that caught his eye into his trunk: both the Puking Pastille and Nosebleed Nougat varieties of Skiving Snackboxes, several Self-Inking Quills, a Portable Swamp, a Weasley’s Snowstorm, some new Extendible Ears, and an enormous box of fireworks labeled ‘Fred-N-George’s Pyrotechnics Compendium’. He also bought a few things for Sakura, including several boxes of non-trick sweets and what Fred called an ‘Aviatomobile’: a flying toy car which, Harry noticed with amusement, was clearly modeled after Mister Weasley’s old flying Ford Anglia.

* * *

Harry, once more holding Sakura’s hand and floating his trunk along behind him, emerged into the sunlight. Surprised, he glanced at a nearby clock and saw that it was nearly eleven.

“Harry!” Harry turned around. Hermione was hurrying up the street toward him. “I got your letter!” she said unnecessarily. “What’s the matter? Who is this?” She was looking at Sakura in bewilderment.

“Hey, Hermione.” He gave her a one-armed hug, so as not to let go of Sakura, who was now half-hiding behind him. “This is Sakura. My cousin.” He held up a quelling hand as Hermione opened her mouth, likely bursting with questions. “I found her at the Dursleys, in _my old room_ ,” he said firmly. “So I thought I’d take her out for a day’s shopping. Let’s grab lunch; do you know anywhere good in London? ”

Hermione shut her mouth with a snap, and nodded. As he led the way back toward the Leaky Cauldron, Harry surreptitiously pointed his wand at her back and whispered, “ _Specialis Revelio_.” There was no answering light. Nodding to himself, he put the wand away and patted Sakura’s hand reassuringly. In the Cauldron, Harry deposited the trunk by the bar, and asked if Hannah would drop it off in his room when she got a moment. She nodded, smiling, already moving down the bar to refill a hooded man’s firewhisky.

They passed back into Muggle London, and Hermione brought them to a small café she said was excellent for a quick bite. After they sat down—Harry with a tuna fish and cheddar sandwich, Hermione with a mixed-green salad with salmon, and Sakura with an odd little bowl full of rice and chicken in a creamy curry sauce that she said reminded her of something she had once bought from a travelling vendor the year before.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione asked urgently. “Ron sent an owl last night saying his mum was going ballistic because Dumbledore turned up and asked if you were at the Burrow, and she decided that meant you had been kidnapped or something. What are you doing out in the middle of Diagon Alley with a primary schooler?”

“I was telling the truth: I arrived back in Little Whinging to find my little cousin in the Dursley’s _ever-loving care_ ,” he said bitterly. He reached out to brush a knuckle gently over the fading bruise on Sakura’s cheek. She smiled brightly at the contact, a huge change from her cringing away yesterday, but Hermione looked stricken. “I’ve gone along with Dumbledore’s plan for me to go back to the Dursley’s every year, but I refuse to believe he didn’t know about Sakura, and I _will not_ let the Dursleys pull the same rubbish they did with me.”

“Oh, Harry…”

“Listen, Hermione, that’s not the only thing I wanted your help with.” Harry pulled out the letter from Gringotts, and passed it to her. “I got this letter before we got on the train.” She opened it curiously, unfolded the parchment inside, and began to read. “I need you to make sure I’m understanding it correctly,” Harry finished.

“Harry, this is Sirius’ Will!” she exclaimed. 

He nodded. “Yeah, it looks like he left me everything, including Grimmauld Place, and unless I’m misunderstanding, he declared me an adult…”

Hermione was barely listening, immersed in the Will. Harry felt a ghost of a smile cross his face, and turned to his cousin instead. “Sakura, this is Hermione; she’s one of my best friends. She’s also the smartest person I know.”

“It looks like Sirius might have known about Sakura,” Hermione said, distractedly.

“Really?” Harry asked, craning his neck to try to read the Will again upside-down. “I didn’t see that.”

“She’s not mentioned by name,” Hermione clarified, still reading. “But that’s the only reason I can see for why he would have had you emancipated. You’re allowed to own property as a minor, and you come of age next year. About the only things you aren’t allowed to do are use magic outside school, vote for the Minister of Magic or hold public office, get married without approval from your parent or guardian, or adopt children.” She reached the bottom of the document, folded it back up, and picked up her fork once more. “It’s actually very straightforward, Harry. You shouldn’t even need a solicitor; the goblins are technically able to execute this will under the writ of Gringotts. Essentially, all they need is your signature.”

“Really? Why didn’t they just do it while I was there this morning?” he wondered.

“It’s not something that can be done in public,” Hermione answered. “Signature, blood, magic… There’s going to be a little more to it, since you’re not an adult until the Will is actually executed, but it looks like Sirius has made provisions for that. Once the execution of the first part is complete, you’ll be legally emancipated, and thus free within your rights to take immediate ownership of Sirius’ property and other assets, and make arrangements for your cousin. That’s why I think Sirius knew about her—otherwise, why bother when you could just wait a year to get your full inheritance without the fuss?”

Harry thought for a moment, then asked, “What do you know about magical adoptions?” Sakura looked at him, eyes wide, and Harry knew she had put two and two together. He smiled at her, and her green eyes started to look a bit watery. She launched herself at him, almost knocking her chair over, and squeezed him so tightly that his ribs creaked.

“You can do that at Gringotts, too,” Hermione replied. “Blood and magic, again. But given that you’re actually related, you won’t actually have to wait on any Ministry paperwork, as long as…well, that is to say, if her biological parents are really…”

Sakura sniffled into Harry’s shirt, and Hermione winced as if it were a physical blow. Harry stroked his cousin’s pink hair soothingly.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said in a small voice.

Harry lifted Sakura up onto his lap. “How about it, cousin? Would you like me to adopt you and take care of you for good, from now on?”

Sakura buried her face in his neck, nodding fervently. Harry made gentle, soothing noises, bouncing her slightly on his knee.

“We’ve been shopping today,” he informed Hermione. “Robes and such, and we dropped in to Fred and George’s place. It’s brilliant; they’ve done really well for themselves.” Hermione wiped her eyes with her napkin, eyes on her salad. “I’ve got some muggle money, too; I was hoping you’d know somewhere we could go shopping for clothes and other sorts of things. And schoolbooks, too. That was the first thing I wanted to meet you about.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione looked up, puzzled.

“Well, my muggle education stopped after primary school,” said Harry. “My guess is that the Ministry doesn’t really expect us to want anything to do with the muggle world, but they’ve got a lot of neat things that we don’t. I’ve seen typical assignments for Muggle Studies classes—meaning assignments written by anyone except you,” he teased, and Hermione slapped his elbow. “—and the class is basically a joke. I lived in a cupboard for eleven years and I could teach it better.”

Hermione sighed. “Professor Burbage’s heart is in the right place…but the class is a bit outdated.”

“A bit outdated?” Harry repeated incredulously. He shook his head. “My point is, I feel like I’m missing a lot that even someone like you takes for granted. Plus, I don’t want Sakura to feel like she’s stuck in the Wizarding World, and magical education doesn’t even start until eleven. What is she supposed to do, not learn anything for six years?”

Sakura sat up, pouting at the idea of a half-dozen years idle. He bounced his knee again, making her crack a smile. “I’m not gonna let that happen,” he promised her. “Hermione, what I’m saying is, if I’m going to be responsible for her, I’ve got to _be responsible_ , and I’m going to need your help. I mean, Merlin, Sakura’s five and she’s already bilingual; I don’t even know how to find out what the other language _is_ …”

Hermione looked at Sakura curiously, and Harry nudged her. “Tell her something in the other language,” Harry asked her. 

“Eto…” Sakura mumbled. “Eh… _Hajimemashite, Haruno Sakura desu. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu._ ”

“That sounds…vaguely Oriental,” Hermione said slowly. “Japanese, maybe? Her name seems Japanese. Hmmm…” She drew out a scrap of parchment and a muggle pen from her bookbag, and began scribbling on it. “Is this a way you learned to write, Sakura?” Harry glanced at the paper, but was unable to make heads or tails of the vertical series of straight and slanted lines.

Sakura, however, perked up, and nodded. “ _Hai_! …I meant to say, yes, these are called katakana. It’s one way of writing sounds to make words.”

“Definitely Japanese,” said Hermione with satisfaction.

“What did you write?” Harry asked, curiously.

“My name. I’ve got it on a placard in my room at home; my uncle bought it for me on a trip to Japan a few years ago. So, you speak Japanese, Sakura? Your English is very good!”

“Thank you,” Sakura blushed a little.

“You should see the size of the books she’s got in her backpack, back in our room at the Leaky,” Harry told Hermione. “The titles were in Japanese, obviously, but by the size and weight of them, I’d say I’ve got a mini-genius on my hands.” He lifted Sakura back off his lap so that she could return to her seat, then intentionally-unsubtly rubbed his leg where she had been sat. “Not to mention a heavy one,” he joked. Sakura stuck out her tongue, then returned to her rice.

Harry looked back to Hermione, who was giggling. “So. Nice muggle clothes, and books to educare both a precocious little girl and a slightly dense teenager. You know anyplace?”

“Well, for clothes, there’s a Marks and Spencer right up the street,” said Hermione, pointing at a building behind Harry. “And I think there’s a bookstore inside Leadenhall Market. I don’t mind helping; do you have anything else planned today?”

“Just meeting back at Gringotts at four,” said Harry, noticing that Sakura was done eating and getting to his feet. “I really appreciate this, Hermione.”

They strolled up the street to the department store, Sakura riding piggyback on Harry’s back, and spent an hour or so picking out clothes for the two cousins. Harry ended up with more, including a full three-piece business suit, with a tie that matched his eyes, which he resolved to wear to the bank when they returned there. He also bought dress shoes and a matching belt, cufflinks, tie clip, and a new wallet and wristwatch. Hermione, put on the spot when she realized he wanted her to accompany him, reluctantly allowed Harry to buy her a similarly styled trouser suit, which would work with the shoes she was already wearing. Sakura opted for a dress, though she demanded they get one with a sash that matched Harry’s tie. The clerk assisting them giggled, and Sakura suddenly blushed and hid behind Harry again until it was time to measure her for shoes.

As they headed for the bookstore, purchases tucked into Hermione’s bookbag and Sakura once again riding on his back, Harry felt a tap on his shoulder. “Hmmm?” he asked, distractedly.

“What should I call you?” Sakura asked him seriously.

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re going to…adopt me,” she buried her face against his neck again, and the rest of her question was muffled by his shirt. “What should I call you? ‘Father’?”

“Er…how about ‘brother’, instead?” he suggested. “How would you say that in Japanese?”

“' _Onii-chan_ ',” Sakura said, lifting her head again.

“And what would I call you, little sister?” Harry asked, hoisting her higher on his back.

“You would just say 'Sakura-chan'. But 'little sister' is ' _imouto_ '…if you think you can say it right, onii-chan,” she teased.

“Oi!” he said indignantly, but he was grinning. 

Hermione, glancing back, grinned too, and gave Sakura a wink.

They finished their shopping with an hour to spare, and headed back to Harry and Sakura’s rented room to get ready for the meeting at Gringotts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N** : The reason Gringotts isn’t crowded and security isn’t quite as tight as Bill described in _Half-Blood Prince_ is because it’s really early in the morning of the day after Hogwarts lets out (presumably late in May), rather than the middle of August when most people do their shopping. Security will be ramping up hard over the summer, but right now it’s not dreadful. I’m hoping I didn’t go too far overboard with Harry’s sass. (Harry **is** pretty sassy most of the time though, so I’m not _that_ worried.)
> 
> Miso is indeed a soup; it is usually made from a fish-and-kelp stock with soybean paste, before various other ingredients are added. Negi (Japanese bunching onion, similar to a scallion), konbu (more kelp), daikon (Japanese radish), sardine or tuna flakes, shiitake (mushrooms) and tofu (soy curd), are all very common ingredients. Natto is traditional dish of fermented soybeans, often but not always added to rice. The fermentation gives it a distinctive and powerful odor and flavor, which is rather an acquired taste.
> 
> Again I emphasize that I’m not worried about the sprinklings of Japanese (there won’t be more than a sprinkling because that’s as much Japanese as I actually understand). For the most part, Sakura will translate for Harry if needed, so I’m not anticipating a big problem. The only part in this chapter that didn’t get an immediate, direct translation was the introduction and…it’s an introduction. She’s saying exactly what you think she’s saying.  
> If you really, _really_ badly need to know, feel free to ask, I guess.
> 
> Every product I brought up of Fred and George’s is real, though most of it was just background detail from the films. (My understanding being that the films are canon unless directly contradicted by the books.) The only thing I technically invented was the shield _scarf_ —since the book only mentions hats, gloves, and cloaks—but scarfs seem like a natural alternative to me.  
> Speaking of, how many references did you spot in this chapter? (I didn’t bother counting, but I know there were bunch.)
> 
> Finally, if you pop over to my FFN profile page, you’ll see a link to a forum I constructed if readers want to interact with me about my stories. I haven’t had any takers yet, but I’d love to engage with you guys a little more publicly.


	3. Blood and Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: If you'd like to chat, please pop into my Discord server at discord dot gg slash ABfg74C**
> 
> **If you’d like to become a patron, that can be found at goo dot gl slash poJdF3 Although… this story isn’t in the update rotation. And I’m several months behind again. Bleh.**

Harry finished dressing quickly, dragged a comb pointlessly through his wild hair, and spent the next twenty minutes sitting down in the parlor, waiting for the girls to finish and thumbing through the _Teach Yourself Japanese_ book he had purchased earlier.

To say he had a lot to learn would be an understatement. After noting that there there were no less than three writing systems and more than half a dozen common ways to refer to oneself (and many less common), he sighed and thanked the stars that Sakura already spoke English.

Hermione and Sakura came down just as he was considering ordering a butterbeer, and he thought better of it. Hermione looked slightly uncomfortable in the new outfit, and had taken the time to draw her bushy hair back into a bun. Sakura’s hair looked freshly-brushed, and the ribbon tied it back differently. Harry ran his fingers helplessly through his own hair one more, sighed, and then straightened his tie.

They spent a few minutes debating what questions or issues were likely to be raised, before Harry cracked his neck and got to his feet. He took Sakura’s hand again, and allowed Hermione to open the wall back to the Alley. It felt like even more eyes were on them now, both because it was later in the day and because their muggle formalwear stood out a little more than casual clothes. Despite his usual aversion to being stared at, he straightened his back, and smiled at Sakura when she looked nervously up at him.

They reached Gringotts at ten to four, passed the DMLE guards with their Probity Probes, and bowed to the goblin guards once more, Hermione confusedly following suit when Harry tugged on her sleeve. Harry thought these must be different guards than before, because they looked just as flummoxed as the original pair. 

Seeing no line, Harry made to stroll up to the desk of the goblin teller he’d worked with that morning, when he was intercepted by his Transfiguration professor, Minerva McGonagall. “May I ask what you think you’re doing here, Mister Potter, Miss Granger?” she asked sharply, her stern face causing Sakura to shift behind Harry again. 

Harry simply reached behind his back so that Sakura could take his other hand, away from the strict teacher. “Visiting the bank, Professor,” he said blandly. She had clearly been sent to watch the bank by Dumbledore, but on reflection, she was far from the most unwelcome member of the Order who could have been here. “Good afternoon,” he added to the goblin, who was watching the exchange warily. “I have a four PM appointment.”

“Indeed,” the goblin said, briskly. Shall I take it that these three will be accompanying you?”

Harry considered this. He could exclude McGonagall, keeping the matter of Sirius’ Will to himself, but he saw no real benefit to shutting the Professor out. She wasn’t his guardian and after the Will’s execution he would legally be an adult, but on the other hand, she had been firmly in his corner last year when it came to dealing with the Ministry’s lackey, Umbridge, and including her today would be a show of trust. Additionally, she might very well have advice to offer based on years of experience that neither he nor Hermione had.

“Yes, myself plus three,” he told the goblin. “Harry Potter, Sakura Haruno, Hermione Granger, and Minerva McGonagall.”

Hermione audibly swallowed at his casual use of his teacher’s given name, but after giving everyone else’s full name it would have felt odd to say ‘Professor’.

“Very good, Master Potter. Follow me, please.” The goblin put up a small placard on his desk, and hopped down from the chair, leading the four of them through the iron door marked Offices that Harry had noticed earlier. Unlike the main doors leading to the vaults, which turned abruptly to carved-out rock, here the marble of the main atrium gave way to a highly-polished dark stone that he thought might be basalt, with metal doors set at regular intervals. The ceilings were rather low, barely six feet high, which he realized after a moment was probably a small revenge by the goblins as a whole when they had to deal with wizards.

Harry, fortunately, was not claustrophobic, and none of them were tall enough to need to duck, though Professor McGonagall did have to remove her hat. “Just what is this all about, Mister Potter?” she asked, clearly displeased that he had dodged the question earlier.

“I assumed you knew, Professor,” he answered honestly. “I received a letter from Gringotts yesterday asking that I visit urgently. The matter is personal, but it will affect more than just me, and I’d appreciate your input on any legal decisions I have to make today.”

He glanced at her, and noticed she looked a little taken-aback at his open confidence. “And what personal matter is this?”

“The Will of Sirius Black, Madam,” the goblin answered for him, coming to a stop beside one of the many unlabeled iron doors. He rapped on it sharply, and it swung open, apparently by magic. “Beyrek will assist you.” The goblin then said something in Gobbledegook through the open doorway, in which Harry caught the words ‘Potter’ and ‘Black’.

“Thanks, Razhig,” said a familiar, human voice from inside the room. 

Harry bowed to Razhig, feeling Sakura do the same. “May your victories be eternal, Razhig.” He thought that was what Gornuk had said yesterday.

Razhig masked his surprise well, although his eyebrows shot up. He bowed in return and rasped something else in his native language, giving Harry a close-lipped smile, and strode away back toward the Atrium.

“I have no idea what he just said,” Harry remarked to nobody in particular, leading Sakura into the room. His cousin giggled.

“He wished you glory on the battlefield, and said you might not be so bad for a wizard,” said the same familiar voice, and Harry grinned at Bill Weasley, folded behind a desk he was sharing with a one-eyed goblin who had said nothing so far, but was watching Harry with interest. There were scars from what looked like burns twisting across the goblin’s left cheek, and in place of his left eye was what looked like a brass jeweller’s loupe.

“I suppose that’s high praise?” he asked, taking a seat in front of the goblin and hoisting Sakura into his lap. Hermione took the second chair, and Professor McGonagall conjured herself a third.

“Perhaps the best compliment a goblin can pay to a human who is not a close friend,” the goblin at the desk — presumably Beyrek — spoke up at last. He had a surprisingly smooth voice for a goblin. “Now, to business. You have perused the Will of Sirius Orion Black?” 

He opened a folder and pulled out what was unmistakably another copy of Sirius’ will. Harry withdrew his own copy, laying it on the desk where he and Hermione could both see it, and let Sakura have the heavy parchment envelope and the note from Gringotts to examine.

“I have,” Harry said. “It seems straightforward, but as I’m not a solicitor I’d prefer to go through it, if we have the time.”

“Fortunately,” said Beyrek, “There is little to go over. If not for some alterations to the document made just a few months ago, the Will would have been executed without your presence being required at all. You add a reasonable amount of gold to your own account, and you inherit all of the late Mister Black’s personal possessions, including his property at-” the Goblin consulted another page in the folder. “-Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.” He turned back to the Will, then paused. “I notice I am only able to recall that address as long as I am actively looking at a specially-ensorcelled Gringotts document, so I gather the property has been placed under the Fidelius charm. As the owner, you should be able to recall it yourself, but if you are not the Secret Keeper, you may have difficulty inviting company over.”

“I’ll figure something out, I’m sure,” he said. “I was given to understand that there was some question of the legality of my inheriting the property, since I’m not a Pureblood myself. Is there a way to confirm, magically, that I own the house?”

“Everything I’ve mentioned up to now is, essentially, already done. No input from you is required. This also, I understand, includes ownership of a House Elf.” Beyrek scribbled a signature at the bottom of the first page. “So, you could call the Elf, and if you are indeed the owner, he will have to obey any orders he is given.”

Harry scowled at the mention of Sirius’ elf, Kreacher, who had lied to Harry last year and indirectly contributed to Sirius’ death. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He owned Kreacher now. This was something he’d have to deal with, and as much as he detested both the mad old Elf in particular and the enslavement of House Elves as a whole, Kreacher knew far too much about the Order of the Phoenix to ever be safely set free.

“So be it. Can I deal with that now?” The goblin nodded, setting the Will down for the moment. Harry took a breath. “Kreacher!”

There was a loud _crack_ , and a house-elf appeared in the room. It was very wrinkled, with a snoutlike nose, giant ears like a bat’s with a lot of white hair in them, and enormous bloodshot eyes. It wore nothing but a grimy rag as a loincloth, and was stamping its small feet and shrieking at the top of its voice, “Kreacher won’t, Kreacher won’t, Kreacher won’t! Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, not the Potter brat! Kreacher wants his new mistress LeStrange!”

Sakura had jumped when Kreacher appeared, and was staring avidly at the new arrival. Hermione was biting her lip, and both Bill and the till-now silent Professor McGonagall eyed the Elf with distaste. Harry sighed, trying to decide how to phrase his order, knowing that leaving loopholes could be quite dangerous. “Kreacher, be silent until I dismiss you.”

The Elf’s mouth continued to work, but the noise was cut off immediately. After a moment, he gave up trying to scream and simply glared balefully at Harry, who was again considering how to go about his next order.

“Kreacher, when I dismiss you, you will return to 12 Grimmauld Place and promptly begin the process of bringing the property up to a respectable, Pureblood standard. First, you will secure the house so that no one may enter by any means until I arrive personally. Then you will wash yourself and make yourself presentable by Pureblood standards. Next, your priorities are to clean two side-by-side bedrooms on the third floor, closest to the bathroom, and the bathroom itself. Make these rooms fit for human habitation and use, and remove anything that might be dangerous to myself or my guests.” He thought for a moment. “Any cursed objects or anything that may be dangerous to…humans, elves, owls, cats, kneazles, werewolves, phoenixes, or other guests, you will place in the Drawing room. You will return all the items that you secured last summer to the Drawing room as well. You do not need to throw away anything that is not rubbish. You will work to remove or exterminate any magical or mundane pests. If there are any objects or creatures which you are unable to remove, you will tell me when I arrive. After those three rooms, you may proceed to clean the rest of the house as would be expected by any reasonable Pureblood Master. You will no longer insult myself or my guests. You will not injure or punish yourself — if you are unable to complete any of these tasks you will inform me. Please nod if you understand your orders.”

Kreacher, still silent, gave a short nod. He was still glaring at Harry with dislike, but there was something like curiosity in his expression now as well.

“You are dismissed from this place, Kreacher. Get to work.”

With another loud _crack_ , the old House Elf disapparated again. Hermione was looking very disapproving, but she didn’t say anything. Sakura looked from the spot where Kreacher had stood to Harry. “Who was that, Onii-chan?”

“That was Kreacher, and he belongs to the house that I now own,” Harry answered. “I will tell you about House Elves later, okay?”

Understanding that he had more work to do, Sakura nodded. She was plainly bored with the envelope she’d been examining before, and starting to fidget. Bill, smiling, conjured a small wooden puzzle box, which she took happily.

Beyrek was eyeing Harry appraisingly. “Rather airtight orders, I do believe,” he said. “You may have a future in contract-writing, Master Potter. Now then, where were we?” He glanced at the next page of the Will. “The late Mister Black’s alterations, yes. In addition to naming you his heir, he filed paperwork such that you would be emancipated upon receiving the Black inheritance.”

At this, Professor McGonagall sat up straighter. “Now, see here-”

Beyrek ignored her. “As you have demonstrated ownership of the Black family House Elf in front of multiple witnesses, there can be no doubt you have received the Inheritance, so to complete the documentation you simply need to sign here.”

Bill slid the document across the desk to Harry, along with a long, narrow box. Harry opened it, and gritted his teeth immediately. Inside was a thin black quill with a very sharp point. The back of his right hand tingled, and he made no move to pick it up. “This is a Contract Quill, Harry,” Bill explained. “When you write with it-”

“I know what it does,” he said shortly, trying to keep his breathing steady, and electing to read over the parchment that he was signing first. It _seemed_ straightforward enough: As the eldest child of the Pureblood Potter line, and the designated heir and demonstrated inheritor of the Black line, the undersigned hereby claimed all rights and responsibilities, et cetera.

“Why on Earth would you be familiar with a Contract Quill, Mister Potter?” McGonagall asked sharply.

Sighing, Harry laid his right fist on the desk, fingers clenched, and the thin white scars on the back of his hand stood out in the light from the wall-lamps. _I must not tell lies_ , they read, in his own handwriting. 

“Umbridge gave me quite a few detentions last year, as you might recall, Professor,” he answered, carefully keeping his voice even. “She had me copying lines fairly often.”

Apparently noticing his tension, Sakura asked, “What _does_ that feather do, Onii-chan?”

As he had done earlier, Harry held his breath for a moment, then let it out in one long exhale, willing himself to relax. “It’s a quill-pen,” he told Sakura. “Wizards and Magical beings favor them for writing, even though it’s a bit old-fashioned. Normally you need to fill them with ink,” he indicated the inkpot on Beyrek’s desk. “But this one is special. Instead of using ink, it scratches the back of your hand, and uses your blood instead. It heals over very fast, but if you use it repeatedly for a long time, it can leave a mark, like this one on my hand, see?”

“They are rarely seen outside of Gringotts, where the combination of blood and magic makes for truly binding contracts,” Beyrek put in, the loupe in his eye socket glinting as he looked from Harry’s hand to his face. “It is…highly irregular for a Contract Quill to be used more than, perhaps, twice in a day.”

Sakura was frowning at the scars on his hand now, though she didn’t seem overly distressed at the idea of writing in blood. After a moment she scowled at the quill, then returned to her puzzle box, twisting it deftly in her small hands.

“Mister Pott–…Harry.” He turned to look at McGonagall directly. She looked beside herself. “Why was I not informed of this when it occurred?” Her brogue seemed a little thicker than usual.

“There was nothing you could have done, Professor,” he answered honestly. “Umbridge was placed there by Fudge. When I was assigned detention I was sent to see you, and you advised me to keep my head down. As you might have noticed, I’m not very good at that.”

Hermione let out a snort of laughter, then immediately blushed and snatched the still-unsigned contract to read it, hiding her face behind it. 

McGonagall’s lips twisted, clearly unsatisfied with his answer, but unable to argue with him. She _had_ helped him with Umbridge wherever she was able, but there was very little to be done as the old toad had consolidated power. She read through the contract after Hermione, then slowly passed it back to Harry. “This document is what it appears to be, Mister Potter. Harry. But I urge you to consider carefully whether you truly wish to go through with this; being legally considered a minor, frustrating though it is when we all must experience it, is nevertheless a meaningful protection in the eyes of the law.”

“Such as when illegally entered into a binding magical contract?” he asked rhetorically. “Or when facing a full criminal trial for a case of underage magic? Mister Weasley and Professor Dumbledore both said it was…irregular to have been tried by the full Wizengamot in the latter case. And as for the Goblet of Fire…”

Bill sighed. “You were compelled to compete in the Triwizard Tournament, and recognized as a competitor by the Heads of three prestigious schools of magic _and_ multiple Ministerial Heads of Department. Then you won, and were presented your winnings by the Minister himself.”

“Both cases are valid legal precedent for you to be considered an adult,” Beyrek put in. “Together, the case is nearly ironclad. I believe it was with this in mind that the late Mister Black drafted this document, Master Potter.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, who shrugged helplessly, and then down at Sakura. Her gaze was focused as she concentrated on the puzzle box, and she made a small, happy sound as one piece moved smoothly. There was really no debate. The Ministry and the World were not going to wait for him to grow up, and without the rights and responsibilities of an adult wizard, he would be forced to send Sakura back to the Dursleys.

He reached for the Contract Quill.

Professor McGonagall leaned past Hermione to lay a hand on top of his, though she didn’t grab him. “Harry,” she said, her voice sounding a little thick. “The Wizarding World owes you a great deal, and has been far from fair, but at the same time you have been…held a little apart. Tucked safely away at your relatives’ home, however dull, you were safe.”

Harry didn’t jerk his hand away, and in contrast to the previous year, he kept a tight rein on his temper. Instead he said, quietly, “My earliest memories — the ones that aren’t Dementor-induced, anyway,” let her make of that what she would. “— they’re of being sent to my room, usually because I asked a question about how something worked, or why my cousin was allowed to do something I wasn’t. I’d get a smack on the head from my uncle, or a rap on the knuckles from my aunt, and shut into the cupboard under the stairs. That was where I slept, where I lived as far back as I could remember, until I turned eleven.”

Hermione, who knew at least some of this, was biting her lip worse than before. Bill and McGonagall looked stricken. Sakura, still focused on her puzzle, seemed to hear the flatness of his tone and leaned back against him. He rested his chin on top of her head and continued.

“It wasn’t because space was at a premium. My uncle is rather well-paid. The house has four bedrooms. The master, of course. A guest room. My cousin Dudley’s bedroom. And Dudley’s second bedroom, where he kept all the toys and belongings he’d broken, or didn’t want, or couldn’t fit into his first bedroom. My aunt and uncle had me move into that room after my Hogwarts letter arrived, because it was addressed to Mister H Potter in The Cupboard Under The Stairs.”

McGonagall’s hand was trembling slightly now.

“Last year, finally, Professor Dumbledore explained that I was raised at Privet Drive because there was a charm that kept me safe from Voldemort and the Death Eaters as long as I could call the place where my mother’s blood dwelt, ‘home’. And I played along, Professor; I agreed to go back again this year, having lost my godfather, the only adult who’d ever seemed to want me around for being myself — having come back from a summer in which I was cut off from the Wizarding World entirely, for my own alleged good. And I came back to find another child, a blood relation that I knew nothing about until that moment, locked in that same damn cupboard under the stairs, sharing the pitiful space with a packing crate bigger than she is. I may have been willing to deal with the Dursleys for two more summers, Professor, but I would never wish my so-called _family_ on another child.”

The Transfiguration Professor made no further move to stop Harry as he took the quill and signed. There was a burning as his signature was carved into the back of his hand, over the scars Umbridge’s detention had left, but the cut healed over cleanly and only the older scars remained. The parchment shone for a moment, the magic in it evidently taking effect. Beyrek slipped it back into the folder, which also glowed briefly after he shut it. There was an intangible _something_ an instant later; a momentary chill ran up Harry’s spine, and was gone.

“I guess that was the Trace dissolving.” Rubbing the back of his hand, Harry looked at McGonagall. “As far as I’m concerned, my mother’s blood is sitting right here in my lap, and as soon as I leave Gringotts today I have no intention of ever again referring to Privet Drive as my home.”

“This concludes the matter of the late Mister Black’s Will, Mister Potter.”

Harry blinked, registering the goblin’s changed form of address for him. All the goblins he had spoken with, in fact, had called him ‘Master Potter’ up to now, presumably because he was legally a minor. Now, he was a Mister. “Thank you, Beyrek. I’d also like to inquire about a matter of magical adoption.” McGonagall drew a breath, but didn’t interrupt.

Beyrek shuffled through his desk for the correct document. “This type of form is quite standardized,” he said, locating it. “We will require a signature and a thumbprint from you, then your prospective ward.” He paused. “There are no recorded cases of magically adopting a nonmagical person…” he added delicately.

“She’s a little young to have had incidents of accidental magic,” Harry agreed, “but she was able to see the Knight Bus through its anti-muggle enchantments. I don’t know if that’s conclusive, but I’m sure there’s another way to be certain.”

Beyrek seemed to consider this. “I think,” he said finally, “that this process will reveal any latent magical ability through the blood, though the young Miss may be very tired afterward. You, Mister Potter, initial here, sign here, then prick your thumb and press here.” 

 

Some more stinging from the Contract Quill that vanished just as quickly, and Harry passed it carefully to Sakura. She took it, but hesitated. “Does she have to sign in English?” Harry asked, guessing her question.

“No, and there is no initialling for the ward, as it is presumed their name is about to change.”

“It will hurt for just a moment, Sakura-chan,” he told her. “And then it heals over and feels better. See, there’s no scars from today.” He showed her his hand. “But we don’t have to do this now, _imouto_ , or at all, if you’re not sure-”

He cut himself off, because she had already begun scribbling in the space Beyrek had indicated. Harry peered at the shining red characters, 春野サクラ, as Sakura carelessly poked her thumb as well and pressed it to the final circle. As this parchment, too, began to glow, Sakura dropped the Contract Quill back in its case with a grimace, and turned in Harry’s lap to give him a rib-cracking hug to rival Hermione’s. Smiling at Bill’s grin and Hermione’s happy tears, Harry wrapped his own arms around his cousin — no, his _sister_.

Glancing down at the parchment again, he saw the odd, complex characters that Sakura had written shrink slightly, and new letters — English letters — filled in superscript above them: _Haru_ and _no_ over the two more complex characters, and _Sa_ , _ku_ , _ra_ by the three simpler ones. In a final, previously empty box at the bottom of the document, a new name was slowly traced out: Sakura Haruno-Potter. 

The same sort of prickle ran down Harry’s spine again, and he felt Sakura shiver, then yawn.

“I think that Sakura might be carrying a Trace now?” he said, curiously. “Is there a way to tell?”

McGonagall drew her wand and flicked it, and Sakura seemed to emit a faint, hazy blue aura. “She is indeed,” the Professor said, eyeing the pink-haired girl speculatively.

“How?” Hermione asked breathlessly. “I read in _Hogwarts, A History_ that the Trace is applied by a child’s name being recorded in the Book of Admittance by the Quill of Acceptance, but the Book only accepts names after the child demonstrates magical output above a certain threshold. Professor, if it’s possible to be recorded this young, why wait until accidental magic occurs naturally? If it’s possible to tell by enacting a magical contract, why do so many Pureblood families endanger their children to ‘force’ accidental magic use?”

“Because wizards have no sense, girl,” Beyrek answered her before McGonagall could. “Is there any further assistance Gringotts may provide you today, Mister Potter?”

Bill sighed, apparently at the goblin’s attitude, but his lips quirked in such a way that he plainly accepted the critique. Harry supposed he did as well — as early as his first year, he’d been confronted with an awful lack of common sense in the Wizarding world, from failing to fence off the Forbidden Forest, to staircases at Hogwarts that shifted destinations on their own, to Bill’s own father, Mr Weasley, who collected batteries and plugs and had once enchanted a Ford Anglia to be able to fly.

“How about, er…” he cast about for the term he wanted. “Wealth management? I haven’t given my vault much thought up to now, just bought my school things, but as I still need to make it through a few more years of Hogwarts and now think about the upkeep on a house without having a job yet…”

Beyrek twisted the loupe in his eye socket, glancing down at the first paper in the folder Sirius’ signed Will had gone into. “Counting the late Mister Black’s liquid assets with your own, your vault now contains something on the order of one hundred thousand galleons, or approximately five hundred thousand pounds sterling.” He paused while the humans in the room choked slightly, and Sakura yawned again, burrowing into Harry’s shoulder. “Gringotts does offer wealth management services, for a fee of one-point-five percent annually on the first fifty thousand galleons managed, less point-zero-two percent for each subsequent ten thousand.”

“Meaning one point-four percent at my current standing,” Harry finished, having done the math himself. “Rather a lot, but I suppose I can count on Gringotts for a good return.” He let the statement trail off, not quite a question, and Beyrek gave a toothy grin.

“I do believe Gringotts is going to enjoy doing business with you, Mister Potter. Additional services will be available, at additional cost, though these fees are usually flat. Sign here, with ink this time.” Harry did so. “Now, I am stepping slightly outside my scope as a Gringotts employee, but as you have expressed concern about your future income, and have now signed to have Gringotts manage your wealth… You are, as it happens, wealthy enough that you needn’t work for a decade or more. With careful investment, it may never be necessary for you to be traditionally employed. However, that being said, it may be in your best interest to additionally to hire a publicist. Wizards; indeed, humans in general, with far less money and fame than you have made a living without traditional work.”

“I see,” Harry said, frowning slightly. That would bear some looking-into. “Thank you, Beyrek.” He bowed. “May you find glory on the battlefield and your enemies fear your name.”

The goblin barked a laugh. “A little non-traditional, but decidedly in the spirit of our new business relationship. We’ll make a Goblin-friend out of you yet, Mister Potter. Good day, and as it is now our responsibility to see to, I believe I will leave you with an optimistic ‘May your gold always flow’.”

Harry inclined his head once more and got to his feet, still carrying Sakura, who was clinging to him like a limpet, plainly still very tired. Hermione, McGonagall, and Bill all stood as well; Bill having to stoop to not scrape his head on the low ceiling. They all filed out, Harry nodding to the teller at the desk, and the goblin guards as he passed. 

“I will leave you here, Mister Potter,” McGonagall said as they stepped outside. Her tone was not exactly cold, but was somewhat clipped. “I shall have to inform the Headmaster of your new…living situation.” She Disapparated before Harry could open his mouth to tell her it was really none of Dumbledore’s business. Harry was left to huff in irritation. 

“I need to get going too, Harry,” Hermione told him. “I want to catch the train back before dinner.”

“Thanks for coming, Hermione.” He shifted Sakura to his other shoulder so he could give her a one-armed hug, and she strode off back toward the Leaky Cauldron.

“Not that I mind, but what are you doing here, Bill?” he asked instead.

“Dumbledore came to the Burrow really early this morning, asking if you’d come round. Mum’s been going ballistic ever since, wondering if you’d been kidnapped,” he chuckled. “Floo’d me at about five o’clock telling me to keep an eye out for you at work. Then the twins called around lunchtime and said you were around the Alley, so I figured I’d be seeing you.”

“Fair enough, but why are you sticking around now?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow as Bill glanced back up toward the bank.

“Ah, well…” His ears turned a little red. “I’m actually waiting for someone.”

“Who-?”

“Zere you are, William!” Harry turned. Coming down the steps toward them was a very beautiful young woman, with long silvery-blonde hair. “Ah, ‘Arry! I had not expected to see you! And who is zis?”

Sakura, who had raised her head to look at the newcomer, promptly buried her face in his shoulder again.

“Hello, Fleur,” Harry smiled at his fellow Triwizard champion. “Your English has improved a lot. This is my cousin Sakura. Don’t mind she’s a little shy.”

“‘Er ‘air is very pretty,” Fleur said, politely, coming to a stop by Bill and slipping her arm through his. “Is she a… William, what is ze word? Like Tonks?”

“Metamorphmagus,” Bill supplied. 

“She’s not,” Harry answered. “I guess she must get it from her father, because those eyes are definitely from my side of the family.”

“I am staying with William’s family for ze summer,” Fleur informed him. “Zey were kind enough to let me stay, because William wishes me to get to know zem. Will you and Sakura be joining us?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think there would be quite enough room for us. We’ll probably stay at the Leaky again tonight, and go back to Sirius’ house tomorrow morning. Good seeing you, Fleur. Tell everyone I’m fine, Bill, and I’ll be in touch once the house is settled. I more than owe the Weasleys some return hospitality after all these years.”

Bill, of course, waved this off. “You’re as good as family, Harry, you ought to know that by now. Sakura too; just you wait until Mum hears about her.”

Harry sighed, but didn’t bother asking Bill to keep it to himself. The news would spread, through the Order if nothing else, and he was sure Mrs Weasley’s mothering would quickly extend to his new sister too. Nodding to Bill and Fleur, he carried Sakura back up Diagon Alley.

He nodded to the real innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron, Tom, when he passed back through the barrom, and grinned at Hannah, who was waiting tables. Once back in their room, Sakura’s earlier energy made a return, so she and Harry spent the afternoon looking through the books they’d purchased with Hermione in Muggle London. Harry, taking some notes, determined that Sakura was averaging several years above her age level, while he himself was about a year behind where he should be — not as bad as he’d feared, but he had a feeling it was going to be a long summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N** : I haven’t updated anything in quite a while, but as my job hunt drags on, I need to express some creative energy! Sorry to the folks waiting for something else; I’m trying to get in the habit of writing at least a little every day.
> 
> I went back and did some _very_ slight tweaking to a bit of dialogue at the end of the last chapter, given that I understand honorifics better than I did two years ago. Shout out to _Aglio - Saggezza_ for the original correction way back when. I also just invented the point about goblin forms of address (‘master’ vs ‘mister’), so I had to tweak an instance of that, as well.
> 
> I’m using the exchange rate I found on the Wiki, plus some estimates for the volume of gold in Harry’s vault, roughly doubled after including Sirius’. Honestly, the numbers themselves aren’t THAT important, I just wanted to make clear that while Harry _is_ rich, he’s not quite ‘the one percent’. He is very much **not** ‘too big to fail’, and so he has to figure out income somehow.

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** I’m not an “official” adopter of this story, but (although I didn’t agree with large portions of the original execution) I always _really_ liked the premise. So, respectfully, I am going to be rebuilding this story from the ground up, and taking it in my own (rather different) direction. 
> 
> If you were like me and thought the idea was great but needed some polish, I’d be thrilled to have you along for the ride.  
> If you followed the original for the promise of a Slash OT3 between a 15-year-old, a 19-year-old, and a 32-year-old…then I’m sorry, but (again, respectfully) you’ll have to keep looking. Truthfully, I don’t know if any of the other Narutoverse characters will be making an appearance; if they do, it certainly will not be right away. Likewise, this story is going to be Gen, at least to begin with—I dislike (if you’ll forgive the term) marrying a story to a ship before giving the characters a chance to actually interact.


End file.
